The Glee Club
by diannaakgron
Summary: The Breakfast Club, Faberry and Brittana style. Please check this out and give me some feedback on it!
1. Chapter 1

**So, I realize how short this is, but its honestly only a test to see how this might work out. The Breakfast Club is my favorite movie ever and I got this idea in my head to write it Faberry/ a little bit of Brittana style. I'm going to keep working on my other story, so don't worry if you follow that one. Should I continue this or not? Reviews? Oh, and any ideas for a title/group name? I'm not happy with it right now.**

**I do not own The Breakfast Club, or Glee (but I wish I did)**

* * *

"_Saturday, March 24, 2012._

_McKinley High School, Lima, OH, 45805"_

A clock ticks in the deserted hallways of McKinley High, its noise amplified by the stark silence surrounding it. The minute hand inches towards the very top of the clock, the hour getting closer and closer to 7 am.

"_Dear Coach Sylvester,_

_ We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did __**was**__ wrong, but we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are."_

The cafeteria is empty, devoid of the cacophony of sounds from the rowdy students. On one of the tables is a crude drawing of one of the lunch ladies, etched deep into the plastic so the janitors can't erase it.

There's a bulletin board on a wall, with no eyes to see it at this hour on a weekend. At least not yet. A signup sheet for the Glee Club hangs in the center, the words "GLEE SUX" scrawled over the entire page. Next to the board is a trophy case, filled to the brim with medals with pompoms on them and trophies with tiny cheerleaders in various poses perched on the top.

Further down the hallway, there's large hole in one locker, as if brutally bashed in by something. Near the ruined locker, a school newspaper lies forgotten on the ground, its headline reading "CHEERIOS SCANDAL" in bold letters.

"_What do you care? You see us as you want to see us: in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a wallflower, and a Cheerio, and an oddball, a diva, and a Skank."_

A picture of a curly-haired man with a nice smile is underneath the title "Teacher of the Year" on a small plaque.

"_Correct. That's the way we saw each other at 7:00 this morning. We were brainwashed."_

* * *

A small, silver car pulls up outside the front of the school. A small, brunette girl sits on the inside with an older man with glasses.

"I can not believe you couldn't get me out of this. It is absolutely _ridiculous_ that I'm here on a Saturday. I have homework! And quite the busy schedule! I don't have time for this! It's not like I'm a delinquent," the girl pouts, staring at her father with her arms crossed over her chest.

"You're daddy and I will make it up to you, sweetheart. Maybe a trip to New York, next weekend?" her father answers, patting her on the head. She rolls her eyes. That seems to be their solution to everything these days. She grabbs her bag and her lunch (vegan, of course) and opens the door. "Have a good day," her dad calls out as she makes her way to the doors of the school.

* * *

Another brunette pulls up to the curb, this time a few years younger and with a large women sitting to her left.

"Be good," the woman says, her eyes focused on the girl. The girl inhales deeply and exhales out of her mouth slowly, trying to release her nerves.

"I will, mom," she replies, giving her mother a smile. The woman doesn't look so convinced.

"I'm worried about you, sweetie," she tries, but she sees her daughter shut down. Her smile becomes strained, and her reply is succinct and forced.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me." With those words the girl quickly exits the vehicle and rushes through the doors of McKinley.

* * *

A girl with dark brown, almost black hair, a stark contrast to the bright colors of her letterman jacket, sits in another car with her mouth set in a thin line. A woman, who looks just like her, only older, stares at her sternly.

"No quiero que esto se repita. Tu padre y yo no queremos que nuestro hija en problemas," she warns.

"Si, mamí. Entiendo," the girl replies, her eyes never straying from windshield in front of her.

"Mija...," the woman begins, but the dark-haired girl has already gotten out of the car and is storming into the building.

* * *

A girl with her choppy hair dyed pink saunters through the parking lot, almost getting run over by a minivan pulling up. She doesn't even flinch at it, or the loud noises coming from inside, and steps into the school.

A tall, blonde girl gets out of the car and turns to say goodbye to her mother, who is busy laughing at something her little sister is saying. The older woman waves absently before driving off speedily, leaving tire marks on the concrete. The blonde grins at her mother's antics before bouncing through the doors.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to everyone reading this story! For the guest who was a bit confused on characterization, Quinn = John Bender, Santana = Andrew Clark, Rachel = Claire Standish, Marley = Brian Johnson, and Brittany = Allison Reynolds. I guess I didn't make that very clear, oops. And yes, I guess Cheerio!Quinn makes sense being Claire, but this is Skank!Quinn, and I think she suits the character of Bender pretty well too. **

**Anyway, please read and review!**

* * *

Rachel Berry's already in her seat and Marley Rose is just sitting down when Santana Lopez gets to the library. The other girl is unfamiliar to her, but she recognizes the tiny brunette from seeing her perform at pep rallies. The girl's voice is almost as well-known as her penchant for wearing argyle. Sure enough, Rachel has on a simple argyle sweater and a plain miniskirt, Santana notes with disgust.

There are six tables, three in each row. Santana sits in the one across from the glee club nerd; the other girl is at the table behind her.

Quinn Fabray ambles into the library slowly. She holds out her hand and lets her fingers graze the counter of the library desk, until picking up a couple of flashdrives in the "Lost and Found" box and sticking them in the pocket of her black jacket.

Rachel takes in the pink-haired girl's appearance, intrigued by her outlandish style. Of course, she herself would never wear anything like that; her fathers would have simultaneous conniptions.

The girl is dressed in mostly all black, the only color on her being the pink in her hair, which is being mostly covered by a ratty beanie. She's got a small hoop in her nose, and multiple piercings on both ears.

What Rachel notices mostly, however, is her necklace. It's a silver cross, twisted and bent into an almost unrecognizable shape. Obviously the girl is conveying some sort of message, but Rachel just isn't sure what.

Quinn takes off her circular sunglasses, barely glancing at the cheerleader or the freshman. Her eyes rest on Rachel for a second and then she sits down at the table behind her, putting her feet up on the chair beside her.

After another moment, Brittany Pierce walks — or rather, skips — into the room, taking a seat at the very last table. For someone who has to sacrifice an entire Saturday for a detention, she sure is happy. Santana finds herself smiling at the girl's upbeat attitude.

Brittany takes off her large, furry hat, placing it on the table and patting it gently. Santana thought it was a little cold this morning, but the only thing the blonde is wearing to protect herself from the chill are a pair of leg warmers... on her arms. The style's a bit odd, but Santana doesn't really mind it on her.

All five of them can hear the squeak of tennis shoes against the linoleum of the halls before they see anyone. Sue Sylvester, the coach of the Cheerios, strides into the room, wiping the smile off of Santana's face. The glare sent the Latina's way is withering.

"Well hello there, my little rule-breakers," she greets, her narrowed eyes looking at each other the girls in the room. Marley can't help the feeling of being judged. "You're all on time, I see. How impressive."

Her tone indicates it's anything but. She sweeps scrutinizing eyes around the room and her gaze lands on the girl with the black, ripped beanie, tufts of pink hair sticking out of the holes, and a bored expression, until the small, Jewish girl's raised hand pulls her attention.

"Excuse me, Ms. Sylvester, I think there's been a mistake. While I realize that this is a punishment, I don't think I belong in _here_," she states, glancing around at the students around her. The girl behind her scoffs. Sue folds her arms against her chest.

"You should consider yourself lucky, Yentl. If it were up to me, you'd all be put into Guantanamo-style cells for the day and waterboarded, but alas, Figgins said no. Instead," she states, pulling out some pencils and paper and throwing them on Rachel's table unceremoniously, "all you mouthbreathers have to do is write a pathetic essay about who you think you are. Ridiculous."

Sue moves over to where Quinn is sitting and swiftly kicks the chair out from under her feet. It gets knocked a few feet away, turned on its side.

"There's no sleeping in detention, Fabray," she sneers before addressing the entire room. "There's also no talking and no moving. In fact, don't even _think_ about even polluting my precious air supply with your breaths."

"While the legitimacy of this so-called "punishment" is questionable, you _will _be writing a full essay. No words written a thousand times, no stupid teenage gibberish. This is not your idiotic, hormone-infested diary, girls. Do I make myself clear, Q-tip?"

"Yes, sir," Quinn responds, hand raised in a mock salute. Brittany, who hasn't really been paying all that much attention to what the tall, scary-looking lady at the front of the room is saying, giggles. Quinn immediately puts her head back on the table.

"Excellent," Sue responds, her tone filled with distaste, "Because if you don't, _I _get to choose the next punishment. And you wouldn't want that, right, S?" Santana's head snaps up at the sound of her name and she shakes her head quickly.

"No, the answer is no."

"Shut it, Lopez. I don't need to hear your disappointing voice right now," Sue snaps. Quinn smirks in Santana's direction as the Latina's face gets red. "My office is right next door and I have the hearing of a bat, so don't try anything. Questions?"

Quinn raises her hand mockingly. "Yeah. I got a question. How many tracksuits do you _actually_ own, Sue?" She misses the way Rachel's lips quirk up.

"About as many as the days as I imagine you'll be rotting in a prison cell, Fabray," Sue responds. Turning on her heel, she leaves the library, shooting over her shoulder, "And I'll see you here next week. Don't push me, Q-ball. It won't end pretty."

The girls watch her exit in silence.

"That woman is a sadist," Quinn states, pulling the attention to herself. The room falls into silence again until the sound of incessant tapping fills the air. Rachel, Marley, Santana, and Quinn all turn towards the blonde in the back, who's tapping her pencil against the desk absentmindedly. She notices them staring at her and ducks her head.

"You've got a good beat," Quinn says. Brittany doesn't respond, only ducking her head further. "I've seen you dance before, you know. You're good."

Quinn grins lopsidedly at Brittany, watching her face light up, before putting her head back in her arms folded on the desk. She glances over at the girl across from her.

"'Who am I?' 'Who am I?'" Marley's repeating to herself, tapping a pen against her cheek. She stares at it for a second, before placing it on her nose. "I'm a seal."

She grins to herself until she realizes that the punk girl is watching her. She blushes deeply and puts the pen onto the desk. Quinn is still staring at her, so she tries to start a conversation.

"Sucks, huh?"

The only response she gets a quirk of an eyebrow and then the blonde's attention is elsewhere. Now, she's staring at the tiny girl sitting in front of her. If she's going to be stuck in the school all day, she might as well enjoy herself. Rachel hears Quinn start humming a rock 'n' roll-sounding tune and sighs.

"I can't believe this is happening to me."

Quinn, satisfied that she got some kind of response, tries harder. "Fuck," she murmurs, making sure that she's got their attention. With no sound in the library, her soft voice carries. "I forgot to take a smoke break beforehand. And since we can't leave the library..."

Rachel and Santana turn back around, rolling their eyes.

"Oh well, guess we'll just have to hope the smoke alarm doesn't go off," Quinn shrugs, pulling out her lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Santana whirls around in her seat.

"You are _not_ smoking in here, bitch"

"Careful now," Quinn says, the cigarette between her lips, "You don't want me setting the place on fire by accident do you?" Santana doesn't like the girls' even tone, or her cocky attitude.

"Light that thing and you'll be down before you take your first drag," she hisses.

"Ooh. You're pretty sexy when you get all riled up like this," Quinn taunts, pitching her voice even lower than its usual huskiness. She makes a growling sound at the back of her throat. Santana scoffs and faces the front again.

Quinn is far from done, however. "What about you, short stuff? You interested in the "Latina flavor"?" Quinn asks, turning towards Rachel. Her back stiffens but she doesn't say anything back.

"Hey. Hey!" Santana calls out, getting more and more pissed.

"What."

"Say another word and you'll regret it."

Quinn laughs. "Really?"

Santana leans towards her by an inch. "Really." Quinn smirks, but doesn't say anything back.

"Could you both just stop acting so childish?" Rachel chimes in. Quinn's eyes snap to hers. The blonde quirks an eyebrow at her.

"Nobody asked you, Manhands," Santana shoots back before sending one last glare at Quinn. "Asshole."

"That's no way to treat a lady. You should apologize," Quinn taunts.

"Um, girls, shouldn't we all just write our papers...?" Marley tries to intervene, the growing tension in the room making her uncomfortable. Her voice practically goes unnoticed.

"Just because you Skanks think you're some cool shit doesn't mean you get to say whatever you want so just shut the fuck up!" Santana's voice is rising by the end of her statement.

"Guess what," Quinn responds, leaning in as if she's telling a secret. Both Brittany and Marley unconsciously lean in too. "It's a free country."

"Just ignore her. She's just trying to start something," Rachel tries again. She's met with a glare from Santana and a low chuckle from behind her.

"You couldn't ignore me if you tried," Quinn husks, leaning even closer. Something about her voice sends shivers down Rachel's spine, and the worst part is, she's not sure whether it's an altogether unpleasant feeling.

The conversation dies down for a second before Quinn starts back up again. She's bored, what can she say?

"So, are you two girlfriends? Partners? _Lesbian lovers?" _she asks. She doesn't particularly care either way, but she's enjoying the look on Santana's face.

"Tell me, amiga, does Berry make the same faces in bed as she does on stage?"

"Excuse me?"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Both of these are yelled at the same time as Rachel and Santana turn angrily towards the girl with dyed hair and a satisfied grin on her face.

"Hey!" All five girls hear from Sue's office. "I told you mouthbreathers to keep quiet!"

Brittany looks from girl to girl until her eyes rest on the Hispanic girl. Thankfully, Santana fears her coach more than she wants to put the Skank in her place, so she's calming down. Rachel's already turned away as well. Good, Brittany really hates when people fight.

"How 'bout we close that door," Quinn says, getting to her feet. She leans against one of the bookshelves. "Can't do much with Sue listening in, can we?"

"Isn't the door supposed to stay open?" Marley asks. This time, she's heard.

"So?" Quinn drawls, whipping off her hat and running a hand through her messy pink hair.

"So sit down and _callate tu boca_," Santana hisses. "There are five other girls in here, not just you."

"Really?" Quinn deadpans. "I thought you all were my imaginary friends. Oh, and glad to see Sue looks for brains in her cheerleaders too."

"Like you're one to judge." Santana's getting tired of Quinn's infuriating attitude and her stupid little smirk.

"Yeah," Rachel sniffs.

"Can it," she snaps at the singer before looking back at Quinn. "You know, no one would miss you if you disappeared from McKinley. You barely even show up anyways. You might as well not even exist."

Rachel sees something flash in Quinn's eyes but it's gone just as quickly.

"Then maybe I should join the Cheerios. Or glee club. Maybe even run for prom queen," Quinn replies sarcastically. Both Rachel and Santana feel the urge to laugh, the idea of the punk doing any of those things ludacris.

"Like we'd even let you near our squad," Santana sneers.

"What a disappointment."

"You know, the only reason people like you don't do anything is because they're afraid," Rachel states matter-of-factly.

"You got me. I don't want to join Cheerios because really, I'm terrified of Sue," Quinn chuckles.

"No," Rachel shakes her head," You're terrified of failure."

"I play softball," Marley says.

"You're afraid that you won't succeed so you don't even try at all," Rachel continues on.

"Or maybe, I just don't care either way."

"Why do you always assume you're going to fail at something?"

"Sometimes you just know. I don't have to try my hand at brain surgery to know that whoever's on that table is gonna end up dead."

"I play soccer too," Marley feels like she's just talking to herself, but she has a nervous habit of babbling so there's nothing she can do.

"What did you say, freshman?" Quinn sighs. She'd almost forgotten the girl was even there.

"I-I play softball and soccer," Marley stammers, surprised that she'd even been heard this time. The pink-haired girl is intimidating, especially with those eyes. She releases a deep breath that she didn't know she was holding when Quinn finally stops staring her down.

"Hey, Berry. You play any sports?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Rachel flips her hair over her shoulder. "I only focus on extracurriculars that either help me in the arts or will benefit me academically."

"You don't think sports are important?"

"They certainly wouldn't do anything for me."

"But they can for other people, right?" Quinn smirks. She almost likes teasing the tiny brunette more than she does riling up Santana. She looks back at Marley. "Do you think sports are "academically beneficial"?"

"Well, um, I mean, there are scholarships for sports. A-and you have to have a certain GPA to keep playing," Marley answers. She doesn't like the look on Quinn's face.

"See, Rachel? Sports make you smart," Quinn states sarcastically. Rachel rolls her eyes and chooses not to reply. It seems getting into any kind of conversation with this girl will only lead to frustration.

"I guess you could say that. Every year, there's a banquet for all the kids who've gotten scholarships for sports. It's in the gym, but it doesn't look like what the gym usually looks like," Marley answers, as if Quinn had been talking to _her._

"Bet it's a real rager."

"Well, no," Marley giggles nervously. "Everyone gets dressed up and we listen to a few speeches. We don't, like, get high or drunk or anything like that..."

"Only potheads like you and Brett get high," Rachel smirks. If Quinn didn't know any better, it almost sounded like Rachel was teasing her. The smile on Rachel's face fades away slowly at the look Quinn is giving her.

"...year we got Breadstix to cater for the event so the food was pretty good. One time, my cousin Allie, smoked marijuana and she started eating everything in the house and she kept saying these weird things and her eyes got all red."

"Sounds like you," Rachel laughs. Santana glances nervously at the door to the library and then back at the girls.

"Listen, y'all better shut the fuck up before Coach hears you. I'm not taking the fall for you morons and your big mouths. I've got practice on Monday and I don't need another reason for Coach to ride my ass."

"Yeah, and that would be disastrous, right? Tough practice for Sue's minions."

"You don't know a thing about what Coach puts us through, bitch. You wouldn't last two minutes in practice."

"Oh, I know. And it just kills me inside knowing that I'll never be able to prance around short skirts yelling '2,4,6,8!'" Quinn mocks.

"That's not what cheerleading is about."

Everyone's head whips around to the blonde girl in the back, who hadn't spoken a word since she'd arrived. Santana stares curiously at her. What could she possibly know about cheerleading?

"It's hard work. Like dancing."

If it had been Santana to say something like that, Quinn would have responded with a scathing comment, but this is Brittany Pierce. She and Quinn had crossed paths a few times, and Quinn knew how sweet the girl was. So she stays silent.

The sound of a door slamming and the telltale squeaks of rubber against the hallway floors make all the girls, except Brittany and Quinn, jump in their seats.


End file.
